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why-not-go-with-style · 5 years

Note

Ineffable husbands not fully understanding the parental impact they have on Warlock. Maybe it’s not till after the apocalypse that they check in with him, maybe at school, and all the adults are just - “Omg you must be Warlock’s parents!!!! We’ve heard so much about you!” And it keeps happening everywhere they go (much to their absolute joy). Just lots of hugs for poor warlock

I need very little encouragement to write about Warlock’s shenanigans. Thank you for enabling me, anon, because this was a delight to write. I tried to have some fun with narration in this one.

***

The Dowling family was, by most measures, rich. Any family in possession of such a garden which sprawled out for many paces across their estate is rich by at least some measures. As any self-respecting rich family they’ve had a whole platoon of workers, including (but not limited to) maids, cooks, bodyguards and drivers. Most of these are irrelevant to us, just as they were irrelevant to the Dowling family, nothing beyond things of convenience. However, as the reader would, no doubt, be aware, there was a pair of beings on Dowling’s payroll who deserve most careful attention. One was the estate’s gardener, and the other was a nanny.

Despite deserving the attention, they often found themselves lacking it. The other servants endowed them with nothing beyond friendly greetings and gossip-filled smalltalk, as they would endow all others who found themselves in the position of employment by the household. The two masters of the house, the American ambassador and his wife, couldn’t care less about what their employees did as long as they did their jobs, and their jobs, in the couple’s eyes, were to take care of the garden and take care of their child respectively. The garden blossomed, and the young boy grew, so the gardener and the nanny have found themselves, on most occasions, remarkably unsupervised by the human eye.

But of course every rule has an exception, even if it is, at first, not perceived to be such.

That is to say, when the nanny and the gardener remarked to each other that they were often unsupervised by the human eye, they left out one member of the household who was, as far as they were aware, decisively not human. Little Warlock Dowling, the supposed Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, has never once let them out of his sight for long.

The gardener and the nanny have agreed that such undivided attention from him must have been due to the fact that he sensed, deep inside, their ethereal or occult energies. What they have failed to recognise was the fact that a young child, by and large neglected his whole life by his parents, who preferred to have him in front of a TV screen and not in front of them, had simply latched onto the first pair of adults who seemed to not protest his company. And if said adults were slightly more... peculiar than others – well, young Warlock maintained, all the better.

There were many things he has noticed about Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. Some of the things he has noticed would amuse them were he ever to voice them out loud. Some would puzzle them. Some would – perhaps – fluster them, if delivered at the right time in the right tone of voice. But Warlock was blissfully unaware of what the right time or the right tone of voice might be, so he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead asked Nanny to tell him another story.

(Nanny told delightful stories. Still, it was, perhaps, for the better that his parents never payed Warlock enough attention to listen to him retelling one of them, because then the circle of staff associated with the Dowling household might have expanded to include a therapist).

In any case, the boy grew under watchful and not entirely human eyes, and if demon Crowley and angel Aziraphale had their secret meetings outside of the estate grounds, to compare notes and exchange smiles, Warlock was none the wiser. He learned to read, and to write, and to solve problems. His father signed him up for an elite school, and a driver was assigned to take him there in the mornings and bring him back again in the afternoons. The Arrangement (of which he knew nothing) worked just as expected – the heavenly influences balanced out the hellish ones, and on the whole, apart from a taste for violence in fiction and an altruistic streak outside of it, what the boy grew to be was remarkably normal.

(Too bloody normal, Crowley insisted, in the same tone of voice in which he would insist later that Aziraphale really should have listened to him back then).

It was midway through December, as dull as winters often are (the only part of Britain which got nearly enough snow that year, or any year, was Tadfield), when Mrs. Harriet Dowling approached Nanny Ashtoreth, after the driver has carefully off-loaded her shopping bags in the corridor to be picked up by the maid.

“Hello, dear,” Harriet nodded distractedly. Nanny Ashtoreth made the kind of face she always made when anyone but the only being allowed to do so called her “dear”. “I’m going to need you to go to Warlock’s parent meeting tomorrow, and then you’re free to go for Christmas. We will call you when we’ll need you back.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nanny Ashtoreth said primly (and if she had no intention to leave the estate when the Dowlings were on their holiday in Egypt, or Hawaii, or whatever other place they have chosen that year, her employer had no business knowing it). “Have a terrific holiday.”

(One must note, unlike Mrs. Dowling who was too preoccupied by directing the maids to note anything, that much like “nice”, the word ��terrific” used to have an entirely different meaning, and Nanny Ashtoreth has lived through enough years to know it. On a completely unrelated note, the only person to enjoy the upcoming trip will have been little Warlock, but that is a story for another time).

The next day, at one in the afternoon precisely, a big black car pulled up to the gates of Warlock’s school. Nanny Ashtoreth stepped out of it and followed the displayed signs towards Warlock’s classroom, while simultaneously waving her hand at said signs to make them point in all manners of different directions (for she had to stay on-brand). There were stairs, and glass walls, and motivational posters (which she considered changing a tad, but ultimately decided that it would be a bit on-the-nose). The school was exactly what one would expect from the kind of overpriced education facility demon Crowley has once earned a commendation for. It was probably for the better (worse, technically, which in Hell’s books was, of course, better) if the Antichrist were to grow up surrounded by spoiled brats. He needed a reason to hate humanity, after all.

Nanny Ashtoreth made her way to the classroom and greeted the man at the door with a polite but tight-lipped smile. He glanced down at the paper in his hands, scanning across the surnames.

“Afternoon, ma’am. You’re here for..?”

“Warlock,” she said. “Warlock Dowling.”

The man did a double take, looking back up at her from where his pencil skimmed down the list. Nanny Ashtoreth, perhaps because she had been simply observant, or perhaps because picking up on negative emotions was practically in her job description (no, the other one), could almost feel the disapproval suddenly radiating off him. She quirked one eyebrow up and held his gaze from behind the darkened sunglasses.

“You’re his mother, then?” the man asked, feigning a smile in that impeccable way only teachers can. “Adrien Franks. My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Franks,” nanny nodded, offering her hand when he didn’t. “However, Mrs. Dowling is unfortunately busy today. Antonia Ashtoreth to your service.”

The man’s demeanour changed within seconds. Nanny Ashtoreth was left to watch in almost bewildered fascination how his polite smile morphed into a friendly grin as he grasped her hand in his.

“Oh, do excuse me!” he exclaimed. “I just thought – I probably shouldn’t have. My mistake. Are you his nanny, then?”

“That’s me,” she nodded, squinting at him. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d know of me.”

“Oh, we do,” the teacher shrugged, stepping aside to let her inside the classroom, a surprisingly quiet place without the children. There were parents (or substitutes) already inside, but they elected to eye one another suspiciously instead of socialising, as any self-respecting rich people do when surrounded by other rich people. “We get the kids to talk about their home life, to get to know them, you understand, and Warlock barely mentions his parents.”

“I wonder why,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered. Somewhere far away Harriet Dowling dropped a wooden clothes hanger on her foot and swore.

“Yes, well, it happens. Unfortunately,” Mr. Franks sighed. “Fortunately, however, for Warlock at least, he has you.”

“Me?”

“Well, you, and the gardener – Brother Francis, was it? Warlock never stops going on about you.” Mr. Franks put the list of surnames on one of the desks, then walked back to her, clearly happy to get to break the silence. “I’m glad he has people like you in his life. He seems to look up to both of you greatly.”

“Is that so?” the nanny hummed, noncommittally. She wasn’t sure whether that was something a young Antichrist should be doing – looking up to an angel, Satan forbid! – but she was going to keep her comments to herself until she could discuss it with the said angel in the privacy of the gardener’s cottage. (Aziraphale, of course, would find it rather distasteful that the boy would even think of looking up to a demon).

“Oh, absolutely,” the teacher nodded with enthusiasm. “Of course, he has a bit of an imagination on him, Warlock, so some things he says are... a bit funny, at times, but that’s not what matters. What matters is that there are people in his life taking such good care of him. You’d be surprised how often his classmates feel ignored at home.”

“No, I don’t think I would,” Nanny Ashtoreth muttered, throwing a glance around the room. The teacher gave her an awkward smile.

“Or perhaps you wouldn’t,” he conceded. “In any case, Warlock is a good kid, Ms. Ashtoreth. Thanks for looking after him. You and Brother Francis both.”

He sounded sincere. It was, in nanny’s experience, hard to find humans who would be so sincere, especially amongst the teachers. She would never admit it, but there was something about people who cared so much for children who weren’t their own which made her if not soft, then at least somewhat hopeful about the human race (and wasn’t it ironic that they were talking about its untimely demise?).

“I will pass your thanks onto him,” she said, seriously. And then: “I think the children are back from lunch. Shouldn’t we start?”

Adrien Franks looked at the clock, then at the door. He knitted his eyebrows together when he saw the kids flooding in through the doorway, their voices filling the room in a way that would have been impossible to miss (and yet). He shrugged to himself, decided that he must have been terribly engrossed in the conversation, and took his place at the teacher’s desk.

He watched, almost unintentionally, how little Warlock’s eyes lit up at the sight of his nanny, and how he barged into her, wrapping his thin arms around her waist. She gave him an almost-smile and petted his tousled hair as he babbled about something Adrien could not hear over the general commotion of the room. He looked over the surnames list (which was now inexplicably on his own desk), decided that enough adults were present (some could stand to learn that not everyone in the world will wait for them), and cleared his throat to announce the beginning of the parents meeting.

Yes, he decided. Warlock Dowling was in good hands.

(It was probably for the best that he didn’t say it out loud, though).

***

I’ve had a whole another scene planned out, with Aziraphale this time, but the fic was getting a little long (and the scene wouldn’t quite fit, frankly). If someone wants to see it though, please notify me, for I would love to write it!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #warlock dowling #nanny ashtoreth #brother francis #who is barely mentioned but shhh #allie scribbles #allie does prompts #very slowly but i promise i’ll get to tbe rest of them!!

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

12 Days of Blasphemy - Demon Side (Rated NC17)

Summary:

It's Christmas time, and Hastur hates Christmas time. Avoids it like chocolate and candy canes (since he actually enjoyed the plague). But here he is, on Earth in December, to meet with his least favorite demon ever. But his mind changes somewhat when it seems Crowley has started taking his job seriously again ... But, of course, things aren't always what they seem ... (1561 words)

Notes: Written for the '12 Days of Blasphemy' prompt 'kneeling'. Also, I'm going to cling to the idea that this is a Christmas fic the same way 'Die Hard' is a Christmas movie XD NSFW in the suggestive sense. Warning for implied oral and mention of Crowley's demon form. Basically, Aziraphale is a horrible angel to his poor, overworked husband.

Read on AO3.

“Hail Satan.”

A muffled squawk! and ruffle of feathers greet Hastur as he trudges through the muddy field to reach the assigned meeting place. ‘Bloody pigeons,’ he thinks, scanning the ground for a glimpse of the flying rats. ‘They’re everywhere. Been kicking them left and right all day.’

Of course, he’d been doing it on purpose, mostly for fun, but they still got under foot of their own accord far too often.

“Yeah, uh, you know … hail … and all that,” Crowley calls across the field, offering up a stunted wave, just the wiggle of a few fingers from beneath his collar, his voice hitching up in pitch on the word hail. He sounds uncomfortable, like he’d rather be anywhere but here, which is often the case, but more so than usual on this dismally wet (yet still festive) December night.

Hastur growls. He hates Christmas, loathes the good tidings and cheer that come along with it. There’s a farmhouse nearby, dressed to the nines with Christmas lights and puffy inflatable things that move their arms and turn their heads to reveal the manic smiles on their faces. He doesn’t understand their purpose other than they make children laugh.

And he despises the laughter of children most.

Hastur took the liberty of cursing a handful of them in various front yards on his way over – snowmen, Santas, reindeer, a polar bear or two. Even a bouncy castle, set up and waiting to entertain at a holiday party tomorrow afternoon. Some will simply deflate at odd intervals and require replacing, others will attack pets and children. At full capacity, the castle will collapse in on itself. There may be survivors. There may not.

Either way, the outcome should be hilarious.

Hastur does his best to stay below ground through the entirety of December when he can, avoids large cities entirely, but this meeting couldn’t wait.

Hastur stops a few feet from Crowley. On the whole, he tries not to get too close to him, especially since the bastard did set him on fire.

And after what he did to poor Ligur.

Why Beelzebub decided to give him clemency, along with another fucking chance, Hastur will never understand. But Crowley was a favorite in Hell once. Orchestrate a few wars, pull off a few inquisitions, mess with the construction of a highway, and you can get away with anything apparently.

Hastur looks Crowley over, baffled as to what the flashy asshole is wearing. He’s gone native. That’s generally understood. So nothing he does should surprise Hastur anymore. On the off chance Beelzebub doesn’t have anything ulterior planned for Crowley (along the lines of his utter extermination), Hastur should probably start giving Crowley the benefit of the doubt. He’d agreed to this meeting, for one. Showed up early even. That proves he’s making an effort, right? A demon who can withstand Holy Water doesn’t really need to worry about playing by the rules so the fact that he’s toeing the line should account for something.

Maybe Hastur doesn’t care too much about fitting in with the humans, but that doesn’t mean Crowley’s efforts to blend in aren’t, in some way, rooted in Evil. Maybe that coat of his is Evil, made from some critically endangered bird, like a giant ibis or a California condor, and constructed by child slave labor in Indonesia.

But the closer Hastur gets, the more disappointed he becomes because no, it’s not.

What Hastur thought was a coat is Crowley’s wings, wrapped completely around his body, gleaming like black ice in the dark, more than likely the product of thrice a day grooming or something else equally and ridiculously vain.

“What’s with the wings?” Hastur asks, gesturing to Crowley’s body. The feathers shift and adjust upon mention, as if trying to contain the whole of Crowley’s corporal form from escaping.

“I’m chilly,” Crowley replies, his voice tight. “Mmmph. You hate my clothes anyway. What do you care?”

Hastur stares at his colleague. Crowley is using a great deal of strength to remain impassive, indifferent, stoic, but Hastur can see the struggle on his face – a pain simmering beneath his skin like the dormant claws of his demon self shredding a path to the surface, longing to break free.

Crowley breathes in sharply, rolls his shoulders back together, then one at a time as if trying to relieve an itch without scratching it.

He used to be a snake, Hastur reminds himself. Perhaps he’s shedding.

Hastur shrugs.

“I don’t,” he concludes.

“Great. Ngk. Now that we have that settled, can we please continue? I have places I need to be, you know.”

“What do you have to report? And it’d better be good.”

“Well, I … mmph …” Crowley’s feathers shift again, trembling as if they’re deliberating between staying fixed to his body or falling off.

Maybe Hastur was a bit off the mark. Maybe Crowley isn’t shedding. Maybe he’s molting.

The image that brings to Hastur’s head of this preening peacock losing his precious feathers and looking like a plucked chicken almost makes Hastur smile.

“Well you what?”

“I’ve been working in secret. Uh … uh … undercover as it were. It’s not been long since the whole execution thing, has it? You lot still have operatives on Earth who’ve decided there must be a price on my head.”

At that, Hastur does smile. Whether or not that was his doing is entirely irrelevant.

But yeah, he did that.

“Fine. You’ll get more time. And the angel?”

“Wh---what about the angel?” Crowley stutters as if he’s about to sneeze.

“We’ve heard from our informants that the two of you are now … living together?” Hastur grimaces, the taste those words bring to his mouth vile, even by demon standards.

“Yes, I’m living with him!” Crowley snaps, but then relaxes a little, head lolling back on his shoulders, shielded eyes aimed at the sky. “That’s how I gain his trust … get him to put his guard down.”

“And how is that working out for you, eh?”

For the first time during this whole meeting, Crowley grins. “I’ve got him right where I want him.”

Crowley’s wings around the middle bulge out, then up. They shudder violently, then smooth back into place. He swallows hard, a complicated look clouding his expression. He makes an odd sound, like a whimper. Hastur frowns.

“What the Heaven is wrong with you?”

“Like I said … ngk … I’m cold.”

“You’re a demon! You don’t get cold!” Hastur watches, stares intensely at Crowley’s face contorting, his body undulating beneath his cloak of feathers but only subtly as he forces himself to fight it, and suddenly it all becomes clear. “I know what’s going on …”

Crowley’s yellow eyes meet Hastur’s. For a moment, he looks ominously surprised and terrified. “Y-you … you do?”

“Yes,” Hastur hisses with glee. “Your façade is slipping!”

“That’s … uh … mmph … one way of putting it, I guess.”

“Take this as a sign, brother! Forgo your human shell and let your demon side out! Come back to us as the full expression of yourself and take your rightful place in Hell!”

“You make a convincing argument. I … uh … will definitely consider that … ah!” Crowley doubles over, breathing heavily, shaking as if every maggot beneath his flesh has finally had their fill of being trapped and is growing fangs.

“You do that,” Hastur says, so certain of himself, he wants to add this development to his report for the day. But no, he won’t tell Beelzebub about it just yet. He’ll wait until Crowley arrives, strolling down to Hell in his glorious demon form – grey skin, yellow teeth, leather wings, possibly even holding an angel’s head in his grasp. “See you soon, Crawly. Good to have you back.”

“Uh … right …” Crowley pants into the dirt, bowed so low that the sputtering remains of his breath moves the tips of the grass.

Between Crowley’s heaving breaths and Hastur’s footsteps fading in the sod, a soft voice mutters. “Is he gone?”

“Give it a second, love, a’right?” Crowley whispers, his brain melting into a mixture of anxiety and ecstasy, swirling about the rim of a large, cosmic drain. “That was a dirty trick, by the way. Do you know how much power it takes to shield you from their notice, and then you go and pull something like that?”

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You sound it.”

When Crowley feels Hastur leave, burrow through the ground and so far beneath the earth that something like a holy signature materializing in Crowley’s personal space wouldn’t be noticed, he opens his wings so he can give a hard, scolding look to the angel on his knees at his feet.

“Just thought I’d lend a helping hand,” Aziraphale says sweetly, licking his lips. “Or a helping mouth in this case.”

“Help with what?” Crowley reaches down trembling hands to slip his spent cock back into his jeans.

“Letting your demon side out.”

“Yes, well, you keep helping like that and you’re going to get me discorporated.” Crowley takes Aziraphale by the upper arms and helps him to his feet, but for all his fuss and bluster, there’s no mistaking the grin on Crowley’s face.

“Like you’re always saying, my dear - if you’re going to go … go in style!”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #12 days of blasphemy #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #Frankie writes

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let-it-raines · 5 years

Text

Not Your (soul)Mate {7/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Hey, hi, hello! So as you can see, we have a chapter count, which means I’m finished writing the story (except for some edits I need to make in the final chapters), so I may post a little more often! I really appreciate the enthusiasm you guys have for this story, and I promise there’s going to be a payoff! 😉

Chapter 7 & 8 cover one day, and, well, that should tell you that something big may be happening soon!

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her always incredible artwork, and her all-around support💕

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Sitting down on the bench on the balcony of his apartment, Killian props his feet up on the railing, crossing his right ankle over his left, and takes a long swing of his bottle of beer, letting the liquid trail down his throat while the rain pounds down around him, coating the edge of everything in a thin sheen of water. He’s thankful for the covering that he has to shield himself from it all because he loves watching storms happen from outside, getting to feel the thunder tremble through the air and hear the rain water mix in with the depths of the ocean as waves crash onto the shoreline and darken the sand. It’s weirdly soothing. The weather never gets bad enough up here for storms to make him nervous, for him to have to take shelter, so with the soothing sounds of the ocean roaring, he takes a few moments to relax and not feel any tenseness in his shoulders.

Summer has fully come into effect in Storybrooke, the sun heating up and the tourists rolling in with the summer storms, and he’s in the midst of most of his days being spent giving sailing lessons or simply taking families out sailing because he and Liam can’t seem to find anyone who is competent enough to work for them and not drink on the job or nearly cause a crash. He knew that this would be a part of his job when they decided on adding it as a service. He enjoys it, really, but it’s been especially busy for the last week of June and the first three days of July. Everything in the office seems to calm down as the peak of summer hits, so the lessons and community engagement are really for supplemental income and to keep their company name relevant.

Right now he could go for a little irrelevance.

It’s mostly because he’s got a sunburn on his shoulders that hurts when he stretches the wrong way and that makes him agitated because he almost religiously applied sunscreen to protect himself and his skin for all of the time that he spends outside. And he’s tired, so damn tired that he could fall asleep in this uncomfortable chair with the cushion that kind of hurts his ass.

Next week he’s buying new patio furniture, and he’s making Will and Robin haul it up here since the only reason he has this uncomfortable chair is because Roland broke his last one when he decided to jump up and down on it. And Will can help because he has to owe Killian at least five favors by now. Will always owes him something.

Really, he still feels like he owes him for that set-up with Emma, which Will fully admitted to being a set-up last week. It was a bit of vindication even if he already knew that.

But he likes watching the storm, watching the ocean and the people who have taken it upon themselves to wander in the rain to get dinner when it would be so much easier to simply order in like he’s doing. Delivery from Granny’s is by far the most genius business decision that woman has ever come up with even if it’s always a toss up between whether it’s going to be Felix or Ruby delivering the food. Either way, it’s unlikely that he’s not going to be missing a fry or two. They tend to snack on the way here.

Every system has its flaws.

His doorbell rings, speak of the devil, and he swings his feet to the ground to stand, sliding open his glass door and walking into his apartment and the few feet through the kitchen to the front door. His place isn’t that big, but it’s enough for him to have nearly everything but the bedroom and the bathroom in one area. The view of the ocean is worth it.

Looking through the peephole, he sees Ruby standing outside with a red hood from her raincoat perched atop her head, and he unlatches the locks and swings the door open, a smile already on his face from how put out Ruby looks.

“Hello, lass.”

“I hate you for making me come outside during this weather,” she mumbles, shoving his food in his hand so that he grabs onto the paper bag. “Seriously. Don’t you know how to cook?”

“Not as well as your grandmother.” He hooks the bag on his wrist and digs into his back pocket for his wallet, opening it and thumbing through the bills. “It still $12.58?”

“And a tip if you want to thank me for my great service.”

He smiles to himself and pulls out a twenty, handing it over to Ruby. “Thank you, love.”

“It’s my pleasure. You coming to the Nolans’ house tomorrow?”

“Is the British man coming to a party to celebrate America’s independence from my home country?”

She pops her lips. “Yep.”

“Aye,” he laughs in response, shaking his head, “I am. I’ve been here for nearly half a decade, and your holidays are my holidays. Plus, I hear Dave grills a mean steak.”

He doesn’t know the Nolans that well despite most of his friends spending time with them, but he feels comfortable enough to go to the party with his brother, Elsa, and their kids. Their first year here they felt so odd not celebrating the holidays that everyone else was celebrating, but in the three years since then, they’ve really embraced it all. Luis and Luca definitely helped with that because all of their school friends celebrated Independence Day and Thanksgiving (bloody hell does he love Thanksgiving), and they’ve integrated themselves into the town ever since. Storybrooke feels like his home as much as Brighton did, and after the initial culture shock of moving countries and time zones to set up their business after retiring from the Navy and needing a change of pace, he enjoys all of the little charming traditions.

That first year he’d still been so heartbroken over Milah and her leaving that the fourth of July fireworks could have gone off in his apartment, and he wouldn’t have cared.

It’s...different now.

“He does. See you tomorrow, Jones. Wear your best patriotic gear.”

“I’ll wear my Queen Elizabeth costume. I’ve simply got to find my purse and my corgi.”

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “There’s a little surprise in your order, by the way.”

At that, she turns around and walks away while he shakes his head from side to side and closes his front door, locking it and turning to place his take out bag on his kitchen counter.

He opens his bag to grab his container of lasagna only to see a white napkin with black markings written across it. He guesses that’s the surprise.

In case you spill your lasagna.

PS: You’re going to have to imagine if my underwear matches because that is something you’re never going to see.

Your Secret Not Admirer

He chuckles under his breath at Emma’s note. He knows that’s who it’s from because it echoes his note from after he watched her spill her water on herself at Granny’s. He knew he was being a little cheeky last week when he’d left her the napkin teasing her about spilling her drink and about her wildly mismatched socks (he’s thinking it must be a thing for her to not take the effort to keep pairs of matching socks together) and implying that she did the same with her undergarments, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass it up. He didn’t see her after that, not for the entire week except for the one time he saw her across the street from the office while talking to Marcus, so he figured that he’d kind of pissed her off.

It’s a fine line talking to Emma Swan, whether it be risking it by actual conversation or by text. Sometimes he can flirt with no problem, sometimes she even flirts back, but other times he knows that he hits a sore spot that he needs to step back from. She’s a bit of a mystery to him, and she intrigues him. He wants to know more about her, to know her, and about half of the time he kind of thinks that maybe she wants to get to know him too. He knows that she’s against the whole soulmate thing, that she thinks this whole arousal thing between them is idiotic (it is even if he thinks it could have some rather pleasant results), but he’s sure that she can’t deny that they have some kind of connection.

Oh he knows that she would, but deep down, she has to feel it too.

To feel it past the physical attraction that they obviously both have for each other, weird aroused by each other’s voices thing or not.

Or maybe they’ll live a life of sending teasing notes and text messages and riling each other up whenever they’re in the same place and then not doing anything about it.

They’re both entirely too good at that even if his feelings of arousal and desire don’t feel quite as intense as they did on that first day. The day out on the boat had been bad, but he thinks a part of it was driven by how little Emma was wearing.

God, she’s stunning. Sometimes he still can’t believe that.

No matter, though, this is his life, and as confusing as it is, he’s having a damn good time having this little tete-e-tete with Emma.

He’s got to figure out how he’s going to respond to this note. But first, he’s going to eat this lasagna because his stomach is rolling nearly as much as the storm outside is.

Priorities.

-/-

“Uncle Killian,” Luca screams when he pulls up to his brother’s house the next afternoon, stopping before he gets to the driveway so that he doesn’t drive over Luca’s chalk drawing. It looks like she’s been out here for at least an hour drawing some kind of mythical forest, and he couldn’t mess that up after all of her hard work out in the sunshine. “Look what I drew.”

“That’s beautiful, love,” he smiles, closing his jeep’s door and jogging over to her, sweeping her off of the ground and into his arms as she giggles. She’s almost too big for him to hold her like this, but not yet. He’s going to kill his back to hold his niece, but he doesn’t care. He loves her too much to. “Do you want to tell me all about it?”

“Nah,” she sighs, tilting her head back as her legs swing, the girl practically a dead weight. “I’m not finished, so I can’t tell you about it because it’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“Yep.”

“And you can’t even tell your favorite uncle in the world?”

“Mommy said I can’t have a favorite uncle because it’s not fair to Uncle Kris.”

He snickers at that, knowing that she loves him more than she loves Kris, but that’s mostly because Kris still lives in England with Anna and not down the road like he does. And maybe it’s because he knows that he’s a hell of an uncle. Lifting Luca a little higher in his arms, he lugs her through the yard and up the front steps of Liam’s porch. Elsa has gone a little crazy with the gardening lately, and there are flowers blooming along the railing and pathway that seem to bring a lot of life to the brick home.

But not as much life as Luca and Luis bring.

“Hello,” he bellows as he walks into the house, tossing Luca over his shoulder so that she’s hanging upside down, giggles still rolling through her body. “I have found this interesting little creature outside, and I think that someone needs to come and capture her.”

“I’ll do it,” Luis yells, running to him from the living room and practically taking him down with the force of his hug.

“Hmm, I don’t think you’re big enough.”

“I am too.”

“I’m taller than you, Luis.”

“Only by a little.”

“Three whole inches.”

“Two and a half.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, ruffling the blonde curls on Luis’s head, “Luis is definitely big enough to help me lug Luca inside because he knows the most important information of all.”

“And what’s that?”

“Where is your mummy?”

His shoulder starts to ache so he puts Luca on the ground and plops himself down on the living room couch, making sure that he hasn’t gotten anything onto the cream material or onto their rug. Liam and Elsa have two eight-year-olds, but they somehow manage to keep everything inexplicably clean, especially since Liam isn’t as much of a neat freak as he used to be. Personally he thinks this entire house screams Elsa with its shades of blue and white with little bohemian touches everywhere. Honestly, it kind of reminds him of Emma and Belle’s apartment but with furniture that was definitely bought in a set and not found at different stores.

“She is putting her makeup on,” Luis tells him as he sits next to him on the couch and goes back to playing whatever video game he’s obsessed with this week. “And Papa is making a cake for the party.”

“That sounds good.”

“It’s not chocolate, so I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he sighs, stretching his arm out over the back of the couch and tilting his head to see Elsa coming down the stairs, her steps so light that he almost doesn’t hear them, “I think all cakes are good cakes.”

“Amen. My children are simply picky.”

“We are not,” the twins protest together, both of their mouths flattening into frowns.

“You are,” Elsa insists, stepping behind him on the couch and leaning down to press a kiss against his cheek. “Have you guys been torturing your uncle?”

“They have been almost perfectly behaved, but I would like a piece of this cake to make up for it.”

“Nobody gets the cake until we are at the party,” Liam shouts from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping on their conversation.

Elsa pats his shoulder sympathetically. “I have a cookie that you can eat to tide you over.”

“That’s why I love you.”

“And me?” Luca asks.

“Of course.”

He watches Luis play his game, which is apparently a Lego’s video game that he had no idea existed, for about twenty minutes before Liam announces that his cake is finished and that they can make their way to the Nolans’ house. He really should have driven himself, but he didn’t want to be the guy who was creepily sitting in his car outside of their house while he waited for Liam’s family to show up. Usually he’d march on in to whoever’s house it was, but not really knowing the owners has kind of kept him from that. Plus, he wanted to spend a little time with his niece and nephew because he knows that they’ll run off as soon as they get into the yard.

It’s a fifteen-minute drive out to the Nolans’ farm since they live on the outskirts of town, and by the time they get there, there are already cars parked all down the street, lining the gravel road almost as much as the trees are. It’s as beautiful out here as it was the last time he was briefly here for some kind of Christmas party, and he wonders just how David and Mary Margaret seem to host the entire town for a holiday each year.

The moment they’re out of the car, just like he expected, Luca and Luis run off to a group of children that are climbing on the treehouse and swing set, leaving he, Liam, and Elsa in their dust. He remembers what it was like to be that young and free in everything, even after his father abandoned him, and the thought of that has him reaching up around his neck to toy with the chain that holds his mother’s ring. His parents’ marriage wasn’t a good one, but the ring was his mum’s and is a memory of hers that he likes to keep resting over his heart.

When they walk in the door to the farmhouse, not bothering to knock, it’s a mess of people, everyone practically packed in like sardines. He nearly knocks Tink over when he’s trying to get past the staircase and into the kitchen so that he can place Liam’s cake in there. He doesn’t even know how he ended up with it in his hands, but he somehow did.

“What’s that?” Will questions, nearly making him jump out of his skin from surprise.

“Some kind of coffee cake Liam made. I’ve been told I can’t have any until we all eat dessert.”

“That sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“It is.” He places the container down and leans back against the wooden cabinets, the cool marble digging into his waist just above his jeans. “Where’s Belle?”

“What? You don’t want to talk to me, so you ask where my girlfriend is? I thought we were mates.”

“Nah, I’m just in it for Belle. She has access to every book I’d ever need.”

“So does Amazon.”

He rolls his eyes and taps his nails against the countertop. “But no, seriously, I wanted to talk to Belle about a field trip idea for next month since she’s still looking for some for the summer programs.”

Will nods his head toward the window. “She’s outside with Emma talking to Mary Margaret and David as they grill the burgers. They must have spent a fortune buying the meat. I can’t imagine so many people in one place.”

“Me either,” he mumbles, twisting his head to look out the window to see the grill situated at the end of the patio, Mary Margaret standing at it with Emma and Belle next to her. Damn, Emma has on the same jean shorts that she had on when they went out on the water, and he doesn’t think he’s going to survive those again, not if she acts the same. Not even if she doesn’t. He’ll probably have to avoid her at all costs tonight. He can tell that Mary Margaret is the one talking, the way she’s swinging the spatula around pretty obvious, but he knows that Emma isn’t saying anything because he can’t hear her voice. He’s close enough to her to be able to hear her voice, right? That’s how this thing works. “Especially because that big head of yours takes up so much space.”

Will lets out a low whistle. “You have spent too much time with Rob if those are the kinds of jokes you’re making.”

“He makes a mean dad joke.”

“That he does. And, for your information, if there’s any part of me that’s big enough to be taking up too much space in this house, it bloody well isn’t my head.”

He doesn’t want to laugh at that, but he does, biting his bottom lip and closing his eyes as he tries to keep from laughing out loud. Sometimes he swears that his humor is that of a teenager, even if he teases Will about that very thing.

“Where’d you get the drink?”

“They have a cooler of water and beer outside, but I know that Mary Margaret has some lemonade in the fridge and that David has whiskey in the pantry.”

He’d really rather have the beer, but he doesn’t want to be near Emma. It’s far too early in the day for him to be sporting an erection, especially when he doesn’t feel comfortable relieving himself in someone else’s home. He’d done it at Ariel’s, but that was a one-time thing. It’s not happening again. The thrill of almost being caught isn’t really there when he’s a gross man masturbating. That just...it’s wrong.

And he got caught the last time.

Damn, that was awkward and embarrassing, and he has no idea how he’s been able to look Emma in the eyes without melting into the ground or something. Probably because they had a few more pressing issues to deal with that day, and it’s hopefully almost forgotten.

He knows it’ll never be fully forgotten.

Changing the weight on his feet, he turns to the side and opens the fridge, grabbing the pitcher of lemonade, freshly cut lemons floating at the top, and pours himself some into a disposable cup, quickly writing his name on it with the marker that was left on the counter. He’s about to put the cap back on the marker when he sees the stack of napkins at the same time that he hears the faintest echo of Emma’s laugh. Scribbling down a note, he decides that maybe it isn’t too early for him to have to suffer from hearing Emma talk. And maybe avoiding her all day isn’t the best plan.

It’s certainly not what he really wants.

“Where are you going?” Will yells as he opens up the sliding door to their backyard.

“Use some common sense and guess.”

“Asshole.”

He doesn’t even blink at that as he strides across the yard, waving to the few people who wave to him, before he’s standing next to Emma and wrapping his arm around her shoulder so that his hand holding the napkin dangles down onto her biceps. Her feels her tense for a moment, all of her guards obviously going up, before her shoulders relax a bit.

Huh. Not what he was expecting.

“Hi, Killian,” Mary Margaret greets, a bright, cheery smile on her face. “It’s so nice of you to be able to make it.”

Emma groans, something he thinks only he hears, and he pulls her a little closer to his side. He will never get over how undeniably fun it is to bother her. “It’s nice of you to have us all here. I don’t think there could be a more gracious host in Storybrooke.”

He watches as Belle’s eyes roll at that before she takes a sip of her water. “Don’t let Killian charm you too much. He’s full of it.”

“Oh, love, don’t be jealous that I haven’t complimented you yet. I was getting around to it.”

“You spend too much time with Will.”

It’s funny how conversations with two different people still end up being similar.

“And what does that say about you?”

“That I am not as influenced by others as you are.”

“This is true,” he sighs, jumping a little when he feels Emma pinch his side under his button down. He was waiting for some kind of retaliation for her since he’s very obviously invading her personal space and talking to annoy her and drive her mad, not that anyone but the two of them knows that. “You are an unshakable force, my dear Belle. So do you need any help with anything, Mary Margaret?”

“You’re a guest. I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Oh come on, lass, I’m sure there’s something you need help with. Emma and I would be happy to assist you.”

Emma pinches his side again, this time the force another to actually cause him a little pain, and he slides his hand down from her shoulder and deftly puts the napkin in her back pocket. He fully expects her to punch him and knock his teeth out, but he thinks he manages to give it to her without her noticing too much. Maybe she’s too on edge to even notice.

“Oh, well,” Mary Margaret says, taking a few of the burgers off the grill and placing them on the tray, “if you two could get all of the side dishes from the kitchen and set them up on the tables out here, that would be great.”

“It’s not a problem, milady. Come on, Swan.”

He steps to the side and starts making his way back to the house. He doesn’t check to see if Emma is following him. He doesn’t need to because as soon as he gets back inside and into the little alcove between the back door and the kitchen, Emma shoves him and slaps at his chest.

“What the hell is wrong to you?”

“Whatever could you be talking about?”

Her eyes roll in what he believes is her signature move around him now, and he has to suppress his smile at how red her cheeks are and how much of a scowl her lips have formed into. “You’re a jackass. I was in the middle of a conversation, and you come out there and wrap your arm around me and then start talking because you know what happens when you do that!”

Gooseflesh rises on his arms, and he tries to regulate his breathing as Emma keeps talking. It’s not as bad as it could be, but it has the potential to get worse.

“And what the hell did you put in my pocket?” she huffs, reaching behind her and pulling out the napkin. “‘You’re right. I wouldn’t know what kind of underwear you wore because the only time I’ve ever seen down your shirt you weren’t wearing any.’ You’re ridiculous.”

“Never claimed I wasn’t.” He bends down and whispers in her ear, making sure to get close enough that his lips brush skin. “For the reference, mine have a delightful blue and white striped pattern today.”

“J-just get the damn side dishes,” she stutters, her voice visibly catching.

“As you wish.”

#Not Your (soul)Mate #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Rekindle Chapter 10: Victorian AU

Adrien talks with his father and Marinette dreams of heroic duos long past.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

“...And on the fourteenth, you have been scheduled for your penultimate winter shoot of the season, the final being for the middle of January. Do you understand so far?”

“Yes, father,” Adrien lifelessly replied, making another note in his schedule book.

The photoshoot didn’t really matter to him - all he cared about was that it was another day that he wouldn’t be able to meet with Marinette. A glance at all the other dates in December reminded him that his father was certainly keeping him busy this month. That wasn’t anything new; father liked to stay busy during the holidays and now that Adrien was technically an adult, he made sure that Adrien stayed busy too. Whether he wanted to be or not.

“...Which brings us to the New Year’s Party that the Mayor is throwing. You will, of course, be attending. We have already selected your date for the evening.”

That brought Adrien out of the stupor he often fell into while talking with his father. “Excuse me?”

Gabriel sighed. “Not paying attention again? I said that you will be attending the New Year’s Party and with a girl of my choosing. What is there not to understand?”

Plenty. He’d let his father dictate a lot of his life but if there was anything that was Adrien’s alone, it was his choice of date. Even if it was just for one party, which Adrien severely doubted. His father had already dropped hints for the last few years that it would be good for the brand if Adrien had a public relationship with another model. Purely as a PR stunt, of course.

“I’m sorry, father, but I will not be attending. I have prior plans.”

Likely sensing trouble, Plagg appeared from his vacation home and watched his chosen carefully. His ears twitched as he no doubt tried to listen in on Gabriel’s side.

“That’s absurd,” his father replied, “I have heard of no such plans. You simply don’t want to go to this party, but that is irrelevant. What matters is that this gathering will help improve our standing.”

“All due respect, father, but I don’t need to tell you about every single plan I make, especially when it is over two weeks away.” Adrien did his best to ignore the stab of pain in his heart from his father’s disbelief, and the surging tide of panic he felt at defying him. Plagg was doing his best to silently goad him on, and he wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or angry at him for it.

“If this plan is real, then tell me exactly where it is you plan on going. This lowbrow party that is so much more important than your duties to your family and our company.”

“First, it won’t be lowbrow. Second, I learned my lesson the last couple times I told you about my plans and suddenly those plans got cancelled or I got mysteriously uninvited.” Maybe the snide tone was pushing it. His father certainly didn’t appreciate it. “I’m twenty three years old, father. I can make my own decisions.”

“I don’t care how old you are, you are my son and the face of this company!”

Adrien winced at his father abruptly shouting at him. That normally wasn’t his style, but maybe the reminder of his age reminded him of another big anniversary coming up soon. Even after all these years, he hadn’t managed to move on. With that in mind, he did his best to stifle his emotions as his father let loose with all his pent up anger and frustration. After a few minutes, his father had to stop for breath and Adrien deliberately misinterpreted that as him ending the conversation.

“If that is all, father, then I have things that I need to attend to. Goodbye.”

“Now you wait just a-” Click.

As if hanging up on his father expended all the anger that he had built up, Adrien simply let the phone fall from his limp fingers onto the couch. He wasn’t sure how long he spent staring at the floor, but it didn’t matter. Soon enough his vision became blurry and the tears began to come in full force.

Plagg didn’t have anything to say, no ancient wisdom, or platitudes about cheese, nothing. Instead, he just curled up against Adrien’s neck and did his best to comfort him with his presence.

---------------------------------

It was late. Much too late. The clocks had already chimed the hour and he had promised her that he would arrive no later.

She was just about to call on Tikki when there was a knock at her balcony window. At three stories up, at midnight, there could only be one person out there. Raising the edge of her dress, she rushed to the balcony doors and threw them open, relief flooding her when she saw his easy grin shining back at her.

“Bit of an odd day to see you in all yer fineries, m’lady,” the ruffian bowed his head to her from his position sitting on the railing of her balcony. His attire was the same as it always was when he used his powers - all black, from his greatcoat down to his stiff pants and boots. The only color was the gold trim on his ornate mask, and a flower in his top hat.

“As much as I would love it, I cannot be in my sleuthing uniform at all times, Tom.” She shook her head. “What do you have for me?”

“Not so quick, my sweet lady. I have a fee for my information, if you recall. I risked much for this knowledge and the Black Tom does nothing for free.” He leaned forward until their faces were barely a finger’s breadth apart.

Rolling his eyes at his antics, she moved quickly to grab the hair on the back of his head and step forward, crashing her lips against his. His ‘fee’ wasn’t much of one, given their ongoing secret relationship, but he so loved his dramatics. She didn’t have the heart to deprive him of so simple a joy, and if it kept him happy, then so be it. After a few heartbeats of indecency, she pulled away, resting her forehead against his as they both got their breath back.

“I always pay a fair price. Now give me the clues I need, Tom, or that will be the last payment you ever receive from me.”

She could hear him gulp as he followed her into her room. A button pressed and a secret door opened to her base of operations in the fight against the evils that lurked within London.

“It’s about as bad as Mister Fu claimed,” Tom stood on the opposite side of her table where she had placed a map of the city. A great web of annotations cluttered the space and only made sense to her eyes. “Occultists are up to something. My contacts on the streets couldn’t tell me much besides that, but something big is about to happen.”

“I’ll pass word along to Fu. Maybe he can find out more.”

“I hope your trust in this mysterious man is worth it. Not right, all this mucking about with spirits and such, but at least we got one of them on our side. Evens the odds a little.”

“That’s the hope. What about the opium den?”

Tom paled. “Well, good news is we won’t have to worry about them anymore. Some kinda monster got in their hideout.” A shiver went through him. “When you said we’d be cleaning up crime, I didn’t think it’d be with a mop and bucket, sweet bird.”

She tapped at her chin in thought. “Maybe the monster didn’t get into their hideout…” Tom raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, knowing full well how she worked. “Maybe the monster escaped the hideout.”

“What? You don’t think…?”

“This is just conjecture at the moment. I’ll be stopping by the scene of the crime tomorrow evening and seeing what the boys from Scotland Yard have missed.”

Tom stepped over to her to take her hand in his. “Be careful out there, my lady. Rough times are coming, I’m sure of it.”

-----------------------------------------

As close as they were to the middle of winter, it was no surprise that the sun wasn’t out yet. Even if Marinette was woken up early by another strange dream. One good thing she could say about these… dreams? Memories? Flashbacks? One of the good things she could say about them was that they at least left her fully awake.

While she fumbled for her phone, Marinette whispered into the darkness, “Tikki? Tikki, are you awake?”

Somewhere beside her head, she heard her kwami’s reply, “I’m here. Is something the matter? Did you have another dream?”

She finally found her phone. Seven in the morning, one new message. Funneling that information aside for now, she answered Tikki, “Yes. This one felt much more vivid than the last. This time, I could feel what she was feeling as if I were there.” Marinette gave herself a moment to really think about what she remembered in the dream. “...What did the Black Tom and his Ladybug face? It didn’t sound like they were fighting akuma.”

There was a long pause. “The Lady in Red. That was her name.”

“Huh?”

“That was her name - the Ladybug of that time was called the Lady in Red. She was a detective.”

“Oh. She seemed… good at what she did.” Marinette wasn’t sure how to proceed. Tikki almost never talked about past Ladybugs and when she did it was always very vague. This was the first time she had ever named one of Marinette’s predecessors.

“She was amazing! I just know you two would’ve gotten along like best friends.”

Marinette finally found the lamp switch and saw Tikki sitting on the pillow beside her, staring wistfully into the distance. It was easy to forget how old her cookie-loving best friend was - how many Ladybugs she had guided. Would she talk about Marinette in the same way?

Pushing those thoughts out of the way before existential dread could set in, Marinette asked again, “What did the Black Tom and the Lady in Red fight?”

“Master Fu chose them because of magical threats that were on the rise in London. The empire of the day had gathered a lot of mystical artifacts and tinkered with them, leading to… bad things happening.” Tikki finally turned back to Marinette and gave a half smile. “But don’t worry! Magic has faded so much from the world that the only artifacts really left are the Miraculous.”

“Considering at least one of those is in the hands of a supervillain, that doesn’t really comfort me a lot.” Marinette threw her legs over the side of her bed and Tikki floated up onto her shoulder. “Let’s get started with the day.”

A short while later, Marinette was making breakfast when she finally remembered to check her new message, which happened to be from Chat Noir.

Chat Noir: Sorry I cant meet up anytime soon :( But! I’m going to a New Year’s Eve masquerade party. Want to meet up with me there? I’ll be in a Zorro outfit with a green sash.

It took a moment for Marinette to process that she would be meeting up with Chat Noir outside the masks - at least, outside the magical masks. Would she recognize him? Did the magic block work while they were in their civilian forms? Although she had given some thought to trying to go to the workplace party again, this invitation was too good to pass up. There were still two weeks, which would be plenty of time to make a dress for the masquerade.

If she just so happened to include a lot of red and maybe have a Ladybug mask, then who could blame her? Maybe her kitty could use a hint or two.

#MarichatMay2019 #Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Gabriel Agreste #Tikki #ml fanfiction #my writing #Rekindle

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taniakerins · 5 years

Note

Do you have any advice on commissioning artists? I’ve never done it before and I don’t want to do anything wrong. thanks!

Sure! :)

1. Get a quote:

Contact them with a brief description of your request

Mention whether it has a background or not, full body/portrait, colour, etc.

How big? If you want a file you can print to A3, specify that in the quote.

Reference their own work to show the style you want it done in (personally this gives me a strong indication of the time I’ll spend producing the work), and/or find an image with a style you want if you haven’t seen it on their portfolio, but think they can do it.

Provide a few visual references of what you want drawing (a deer in a hat makes for a faster drawing than an 8 winged, 12 legged dragon with crystals for scales. This is all I need to know at this stage)

If you have a deadline, mention it when getting the quote; it may not affect the price, but if you want the 12 legged dragon in full colour by tomorrow, it might not be feasible.

2. Payment & terms of agreement:The artist should be able to reply with a price that accurately reflects the work required, or whether they’re currently closed for commission.The fee stated will vary between artists, and it’s here that people seem to do something wrong:

If you’re not happy to pay the fee, don’t make insults or start complaining about how hard it is for you to accrue the money; accept it or politely decline. The artist doesn’t need to be made to feel bad about your financial decisions; they’re probably not charging enough for their time as it stands and they don’t need encouraging to charge less.

(Consider that some artists are self employed; they do not get a pension, sick pay, holiday pay, and they must deduct their own taxes from their income. Their prices reflect this just like any self-employed person in any industry.)

Agree on payment terms with the artist. This again varies. Personally I require payment upfront as it’s safer. Some will agree on half upfrontor after a sketch has been approved, half when complete, etc. Some also expect you to sign a contract or you to accept an invoice; the artist will let you know what their terms are.

3. The Brief:

If you’ve accepted their terms and fee, it’s time to get into the details:

Send as much visual reference material as possible! If you like a particular distressed leather look, send them a picture of it!

Try to avoid irrelevant information; I don’t need to know why there’s a cut on the characters ear, only that there is one. Too much irrelevant information and you risk important facts being lost.

4. Finished!:

It’s done!

If you’re happy with it, let them know! Don’t be shy! The reaction I get from clients is a big part of why I do this in the first place.

If you’re not happy with it, let them know! Politely. Maybe there was something missed out which you clearly briefed them on; it’s the artists responsibility to give you what you paid for, but be nice about it; find out where there was miscommunication and make practical steps towards resolving the issue.

Changes to commissions are always a bit of a grey area. There comes a point when it isn’t economical for the artist to continue amending the visual, and a point when it’s unreasonable to expect the artist to have guessed what’s in your head. If it concerns you, find out in the payment stage what you can expect regarding alterations.

When requesting an alteration, be very clear about what it is. In some cases where the change is substantial, you will need to pay for amendment time.

Hopefully that clears everything up for you! :D

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airagorncharda · 6 years

Text

Sleepless Loneliness

Allura has trouble sleeping, and so does everybody else.

(Hints at Allura/Lance feelings) This is a one shot fic, though I might write a followup at some point.

It’s not as though Allura slept with company before the ten thousand year cryosleep. It’s not as though she’d never been alone before, lonely before. But loneliness before was a fact, an empty pillow, a puddle she could acknowledge and then step around and continue on. It was a fleeting thing, gone by morning and irrelevant to her daily life.

Loneliness now was an ocean, a gaping maw ready to consume her, the endless brutal void of space.

Allura didn’t sleep much anymore. She lay awake in the castle in a bed big enough for four, built for two, cradling one. She went over the day in her mind, recalling the battles, the training exercises, the diplomatic opportunities, analyzing every choice she’d made and planning for every eventuality she could imagine. The duty of a ruler is to be prepared for hardship, ready with solutions, tactics, balms in the wake of failures.

She rarely dwelt on the duties of a ruler for very long, instead diving right back into the work. Too risky to think on her role as a ruler, too risky to assess what exactly she was the princess of anymore. Mostly her mind spun on the day, assessing and reassessing, analyzing, criticizing, reimagining the what-ifs and could-have-beens until her body shut down from exhaustion. Sometimes, though, she dwelled too long on role, on duty, on loneliness, and spiralled into despair.

Hours of planning without sleep would send her to the kitchens for tea, food, washing her face, something to do. It only took minutes-- sometimes mere seconds-- of self focus to eject her from her bed in desperation of distraction. She’d escape to a shower, don a robe, head to the kitchens and rub her tired eyes as she resigned herself to another sleepless night. Tomorrow night would be easier; No sleep tonight meant she’d pass out when her head hit the pillow tomorrow night.

Often she wasn’t the only one awake.

There was no doubt that their situations were different, but she could empathize with the palladin’s loneliness all the same. Sometimes it still felt as though her own world were simply far away, out of reach. Not truly gone; simply inaccessible. She could imagine what it felt like for them, so far from their world, their families, their home. She was unsurprised that their insomnia mirrored her own.

Hunk, unable to sleep, tried to replicate his family recipes as best he could without the recipe before him, and without the appropriate ingredients. Allura, welcoming a distraction and feeling for him, offered an extra set of hands and translated the Altean on the labels. She, too, wished she could taste the foods of her childhood, or her home, her world. For now she’d settle for a distraction and the opportunity to help a friend. He told her which recipes came from which of his relatives, and which ones he’d learned or created himself. He told her stories about holidays with his family, and they sounded so different from her own that it was usually easy to avoid her own memories and just listen. Hunk steered the conversation with gentle tact, seeming aware of the dips in her mood and happy to help her around them.

When it was Pidge in the kitchen, Allura found herself roped into explaining Altean technology or script or history-- anything to fill Pidge’s voracious mind and distract them both. Pidge avoided eye contact, or even looking directly at Allura in favor of a screen, which meant Pidge rarely noticed the dark circles under her eyes, or how they were sometimes red and puffy. While Hunk was always careful with her when she was feeling the most fragile, Pidge helped by completely ignoring-- or perhaps being truly oblivious to-- her plight.

Allura had expected to have more in common with Pidge than it turned out she did, but that gulf of personality between them had less of an impact on their friendship than Allura would have expected too.

Keith barely speaks to Allura when he can’t sleep. They exist in silence or listen to music; sometimes they go to the training room. She would have expected the silence to be lonely, but Keith doesn’t leave the room when she walks in, and he doesn’t ignore her. He gets out another mug, or moves his legs off the other end of the couch so she can sit down. They exist together, companions in thought, until one of them suggests sparring. Working up a sweat is easy with Keith, and he doesn’t hold back; if she wants to avoid injury she has to focus, and focusing on the flow of combat drives all else from her mind.

After sparring she sleeps no more hours than she would have otherwise, but much more deeply, exhausted, usually dreamless; a blessing.

Coran avoids the kitchens at night, possibly because that’s where Allura goes. She knows he must be dealing with his own loneliness, his own insurmountable void where Altea used to be. But Coran doesn’t like to be negative, to bog people down with his pain. Allura suspects that engaging with her when he’s at his most fragile picks at the scabs of his grief as much as it does hers. It’s also possible, she supposes, that he simply sleeps more than she does, whether naturally or somehow induced. One of the few times they ran into each other at night, she ended up sobbing on a couch in his arms. The other times, he excused himself with a chipper to-do-list of repairs or preparations, and she’s relieved by his absence.

In the middle of the night, in the middle of her grief, Coran reminds her of the immensity of what she’s lost more than what little she’s retained or regained, and the guilt that overcomes her for that is no small thing.

With Shiro, too, she’s broken down in tears. He, like Keith, is comfortable with silence. Like Hunk, he’s careful with her emotions, notices her fragility when she’s at the end of her rope. Shiro stroked her back through her tears, and brought her a napkin to blow her nose, a glass of water, and a chess board. He made no comment about her tears, only moved forward with kindness, and she offered him the same courtesy the few times she’d found him in a similar state. They confided thoughts, memories. He told her about his illness, his arm, about meeting Keith, about Adam, the breakup, his childhood; she told him about her mother, her favorite childhood toys and games, tutors, how her father was often away, how she’d almost had a younger sibling, that she’d known Coran her whole life-- but they only said a few details about each thing; only filling in a friend on the gaps in their history.

Mostly, though, they talked strategy. It was a welcome alternative to spiraling thoughts on the same topic, alone in her room. With Shiro, she felt like the planning and analyzing and tactical assessments were actually productive, helpful, less of a coping mechanism to avoid the hungry maw of grief threatening to devour her from the inside out.

She recognized that same drive in him, and wondered where it stemmed from. Some things are too personal to ask.

After his disappearance, his return, Shiro wasn’t around as much at night, and when he was he seemed distant. It felt lonelier to engage with him than to keep her distance, and that, too, filled her with guilt.

Perhaps she overcompensated for that, and engaged with him more than she ought. Perhaps it fueled their disagreements in the light of day.

Only after he returned in truth did they settle back comfortably into their insomniac’s camaraderie. Part of her was wracked with guilt over not realizing the truth of his absence, another part proud that she’d noticed the change at all. She told him so, and he heard it, and they were friends.

Lotor, for the brief time he was with them, offered a grating charm that she didn’t know what to make of. Clearly it was insincere, careful and calculating, but it was so unwavering she began to doubt her own doubts, and in the wake of sleepless nights he was persuasively distracting. It was a form of what she needed, if a dangerous one. And once he was gone, she didn’t miss him, or the persistence with which he had chipped away at her defences, seeming to approach her only at her weakest moments, with just the right words ready at hand.

She thinks, after, that he only added to her exhaustion.

Out of all of them, it was only Lance who actually helped her sleep. When they collided in the night, he was always making himself some tea, prepping a foot warmer, making his face mask paste, or just out of a bath. Cozied up in a robe and slippers, yawning and stretching and smiling at her in a way that made her actually feel less lonely. They’d talk, of course, but not for too long. No hours on end passed in silence or tactical debate, no quizzes on code or chatting while something finished baking. Lance would tell her a joke, tease her a little, make her some tea, prep her a foot warmer, and send her back to bed feeling better.

And when she got back into bed, she’d think about him instead of battle strategies or the ten thousand years between her and everyone she’d ever known. She’d think about him, and the loneliness of an empty pillow would feel factual and puddle sized once more. He wasn’t dead, wasn’t ten thousand years away-- he was a few hallways over wearing lion slippers and an eye mask, and hopefully snoring, and everything that stood between him and her bed were obstacles she had the power to remove if she felt rebellious or safe enough.

It was a surmountable loneliness, brought on once more by her sense of duty, of decorum, of the appropriate order of events. It was familiar in a way that so little in her life now was. Bittersweet, an exercise in self control and prioritization, present and at arms reach.

Lance, and the space between them, felt so strangely and so reassuringly of home.

#allurance #voltron fic #voltron #my writing #my fics #allura #lance #this is sort of a character study like most of my fics I guess #I love Allura a lot okay

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thinkblogtalk-blog · 5 years

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Never mind the bollocks, what’s my Brexit?

Like many, I now class myself as a “BoB” (Bored of Brexit). I voted to remain and by heck I still wish that by some miracle some “force majure” will occur and it can be avoided but let’s face it, like it or not, it’s happening. So, with the impending deadline of 29th March I have to start thinking about life after the EU. Yes, we know Dyson has done a bunk and Nissan are on their way out, too. Is this bad? Of course! As such, I have spent a short amount of time thinking what could impact me. Not whether the Pound will be devalued, not whether fisherman will suffer or prosper and not whether those overpriced vacuum cleaners are produced by a company based in the U.K. or Singapore. I must stress that I do view these as very important subjects but I want to spend a moment considering what I might experience as soon as Britain exits the EU with no deal. Not what the news tells me to consider but what really matters to me as a normal-ish person.

So, just before I start I must stress that there may already be answers to my questions. If you have factual answers, I genuinely welcome you to inform me.

Okay, here we go...

1. “I travel to Europe for work - will I need a visa”? So, at least once a month I catch the Eurostar over to France and typically spend a few days on the Continent. If there is no deal and I have to make my way to France in April, will I be able to? I will be attempting to enter the country for business (and sadly very limited pleasure) so will I need to attain a work visa? If so, what will be the process? Will I need to postpone my visits until an agreement has been reached? The U.K. is currently standing firm on restricting free movement of people across Europe so will Europe apply the same restrictions? This would be a major pain in the backside but I couldn’t blame the EU if they did - what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. Anyway, what’s the plan?

2. “Will I need a visa to go on holiday”? Similar to my previous point, if free movement of people is immediately restricted on both sides, can I fly 45 minutes to Ireland without a visa? Or pop over to Barcelona for a cultural visit? Or younger brethren rip it up in Magaluf this summer? Seriously, what happens to everyone who has booked a summer holiday in Europe?

3. “Mobile phone roaming charges in Europe were scrapped in 2017 - will this change”? Cast your minds back to the not too distant past when heading into continental Europe was met with painfully expensive mobile phone charges. Send a text for £3? Make a call for £2 a minute? Look at some tripe on Facebook and pay £8.78 for the privelidge? No thanks! Okay, the prices might not be entirely accurate but I do know it wasn’t cheap. Allowing us to use our U.K. price plans when in Europe is a European agreement. If I want to look at Lorraine’s picture of her cheeky Nando’s on Facebook when I’m in Holland in 6 weeks time, is it going to cost me the equivalent of seven Harvester “Early Bird” meals? Unlimited salad and soft drinks isn’t going to soften the blow for me.

4. “My medication comes from Belgium - are there plans to ensure I can still get it”? Firstly, I’m not at risk of kicking the bucket any time soon so don’t panic (or rejoice)! That said, I have to take medication every day for the rest of my life. If I don’t take my medication will I die? Nope. Will not taking my medication have an effect on my health? Well, yeah, sooner or later it will. So if my tablets are produced in Belgium and the NHS cannot buy these drugs from a European country, then what plans are there to source them from elsewhere or produce them in the U.K.? This is a serious issue for me but it is so much more of a risk for other people. For example, some people have to take medication to control aggressive epilepsy that can result in 10’s or even 100’s of violent physical seizures every day. Consider that for a moment; a disease that a person could die from tomorrow if they do not take their medication. What happens if that medication is not available? Well, we know what will happen and it’s a heartbreak thought.

5. “Will I still be able to get immediate healthcare when in Europe as I currently can with my EHIC card”? Remember those credit card-looking things we all got years and years ago? The cards we kept in our wallets and purses initially but have now all lost? Yeah, well that was tangible proof that we were able to receive healthcare across Europe should we need it. What happens next? If I nip over to Germany, don’t buy insurance (my fault but not uncommon) and require emergency healthcare, will I get it? Will I only receive the minimum care? No idea!

6. My supermarket obviously sources food from Europe. If there is no trade deal, can these stores still buy the goods to sell to me? You could argue that this one has been used as part of “project fear” but surely it is logical to think that as a proportion of the food in our supermarkets comes from EU counties but these countries are not allowed to sell to the U.K., where will the food come from in April? Sure, we can strike a deal with the USA later this year to buy chicken pumped with antibiotics and washed in bleach (yummy!) but there is no suggestion those deals are in place to continue the supply immediately from 30th March onwards. Remember when KFC changed their supplier last year, the new supplier totally screwed up and KFC could only flog a few items from their menu for months? Now imagine something similar with food and toiletries across a presumably large spectrum of goods. Will we all be walking around as amaciated beings with body oddur, unwipped bums and washed clothes without fabric conditioner?

If you’re still reading this, fair play! And thank you! I will end on the same point that I started; I have written this because I have genuine questions. There may be answers to these questions and I truly welcome people to answer them for me. I have not written this to be used as propaganda. My personal views on the Brexit debate are irrelevant - I’m just an ordinary person asking ordinary questions that, so far, remain answered for me. I have written this simply because no-one is telling me about the day to day issues (or benefits) that ordinary people will face after Brexit. It doesn’t matter what side of the fence you sit on, life after 29th March remains a mystery.

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timotheetea · 6 years

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In this story, Elio visits Oliver in New York, after hearing his wife has passed away from a heart attack.

Chapter IV

“Nothing teaches me not to miss you.” - Anton Chekhov, from Complete Works Back at my hotel in the East Village I cried as soon as I closed the door behind me. Without bothering to shut the curtains, I stripped down of my clothes, and got naked into the bed, which had been made up by the housekeepers while I was gone. The daylight was maddening, beating off the white walls, and I got under the covers to hide the sunlight from hitting my eyes. My bottle of water was still on the nightstand, my watch and a novel I had read yesterday evening, were too. I tried to close my eyes, and force sleep to come, but my body was too tense. I urged my body to calm down, but it did not seem to be able to. I felt like my body had doubled its veins, and my blood was flowing for the first time in years. I listened to my heartbeat, and tried to place the unfamiliar feelings in my brain. I replayed the conversation in my head. “No, I can’t possibly go back to your house to have dinner now.” His parents had flown over from New England for a few days to babysit the boys and help out. His mother would cook. “Why not?” “Non posso. I can’t.” He understood. He looked triste, sad. I touched his little finger, linked mine in his. We both looked at our fingers in each other: not yet holding, but touching, reaching out. I quickly let go when I heard voices coming in the hallway. He took a step back. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow then.” It wasn’t a question. I would never have said no. This was what I came here for. I hoped by tomorrow I could look him in the eyes. I hoped I could hold him longer. I wished not to speak, but to give my body to his, to give my voice to his, to give my heart to his. I wanted him to have everything that I had. I wanted to help him in any way I could, but I wasn’t sure whether he wanted anything I could give him, whether I wasn’t a burden to him. Have everything of me as you want, Oliver. Take whatever you want to take. Don’t say I didn’t offer you everything I have. “I have a gift for you.” I had taken out the chocolates and the condolences card, which seemed irrelevant now, and it had made me embarrassed and shy. “Thank you,” he said. He read the card and managed to smile. He looked like he was ready to cry. ”Your parents have already sent flowers over - they are too kind. Will you thank them for me?” “I will. I’ll call.” I hesitated to ask the next question, played with the words in my mouth before deciding to free them. ”Are you glad that I came?” He smiled for a second, but never gave a straight answer. As a matter of goodbye, I kissed him on the hand - he did not kiss mine back. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I want to know everything,” I said before leaving. On the telephone, a while later, I said: “Mama, papa, the state he is in! I have never known he could look this heartbroken. It makes me sad knowing the grief he is going through. How he is working again so soon, I don’t know and don’t understand. Tomorrow we’ll have dinner at the hotel and we’ll talk more.” In the evening I went for a walk around the neighbourhood. Instead of taking in the route I was walking so as not to get lost, I decided I would walk north and see where I’d end up - I could always take a taxi back. The noises were so loud, the day’s heat didn’t seem to fade, the streets were so busy around dinner time. The pace of life was so fast, how different than Rome, where everyone was finding cover in the shadows! In Rome, everyone lazes around the squares and the cafés, smoking and chatting away in the Romanesco dialect. Here, it seemed as though everyone was rushing to go home - not paying attention to their surroundings. I saw an older lady just about to sit down on a bench, when suddenly a young man hurriedly sat down on the same spot. How rude! Such thing would never happen in Italy! I shook my head at the sight of it.

I sat down in a small pizza shop to have two slices of pepperoni pizza, which were so greasy that I felt nauseous afterwards. The heat was so different than I was used to: I was sweating, even though I was wearing a loose shirt. Inside the pizza shop the smell was even worse than out on the streets - where did one go to get a breath of fresh air around here? While I was walking I thought of Oliver, his apartment, his children, his parents, but most of all his wife. Oliver, now a widower. It baffled me the more I thought about it. His hollow cheeks, his study that reeked of cigarettes, his ribs, his sorrowful eyes. His arms that used to be muscular had now seemed thinner. He seemed to have aged evidently - somehow, having never seen any pictures, I had found it hard to picture what he would look like getting older. Though he was still, without question, incredibly handsome, it seemed like he had lost his carefree way of living. Thinking back of Oliver in B. jumping over the fence towards the sea instead of opening it like everyone else did, was in sharp contrast with the Oliver I had witnessed today. He’d lost his youth, which made me reminiscence back to the days, those beautiful days, in Rome. If I ever walked in his footsteps again, I would be able to picture him, the real him, not the Oliver I kept in my thoughts all day, as I had seen him today. How seeing Oliver had changed me, I couldn’t understand yet. I just needed to see him again, speak to him again. I craved to be near him. The second I shut the door of his office behind me, I wanted to go back in immediately, and tell him I didn’t ever want to leave his side. Why had he never come back? He’d promised to visit! Other summer residents came and went all too often - where was Oliver? Why hadn’t he come? Was he glad to see me? Had he faked his response? Could I help him in a way that other people could not help him? Surely he must have many friends whom he could lean on for support. He’d mentioned going on holiday with friends before, there always seemed to be something going on with friends when he called on Christmas. He is shy, my father used to say. Still, coming back for a Christmas holiday was something most of our summer guests did, even if it was only for a day to see the old professor and his family that gave them the summer to never forget.

Why hadn’t he? Every year he would call, but he would never mention a visit, and we daren’t ask him to come, though my parents did mention it - they never asked. I didn’t dare ask him to come. It would’ve been better too, if he hadn’t come, so I could resume to try and forget him, while trying to attach myself to other people. My father saw the coming and going of lovers in my life as a coping mechanism, I was sure. He was too polite to ever comment on it - not meaning to offend any of the lovers I introduced him to. Which suited him. With every passing year, it seemed evident to me that he must know how I was longing for Oliver. I kept the show going, every time a new lover, vastly different from the one before. Discovering time and time again that I could not find it in myself to truly feel affection towards any of them. They bored me, annoyed me, and I was too restless to stick around. They never completed me - like Oliver had been an extension of myself. Going down memory lane on the Rome route of Oliver & Elio’s drunken night in 1987, I cursed myself, but could not keep myself from walking in his footsteps at least once a month, for all those years. Headphones on, listening to various composers until the batteries died. In our spot I would sit down on the pavement against the wall, and close my eyes, and feel everything just as vividly as the day it happened. Now, things would always be different. Oliver had changed. In turn, I realised, I needed to adjust to him again. Chapter 5 will follow tomorrow

#fanfic #fanfiction #cmbyn #call me by your name

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funface2 · 5 years

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101 Funny Quotes — Hilarious Quotes to Make You Laugh – Parade

Whether it’s a play on words, a funny observation about everyday things or old witty sayings, comedy has a way of making us realize we’re all going through the same stuff in this crazy life. These funny quotes about work, love, friends and family will have you saying, “So true!” because, well, they are. Others will have you remembering hilarious, meme-worthy movie and TV moments.

Take a much-needed break from your day to check out the 101 funniest quotes we found in stand-up comedy, books, plays, celebrity Twitter and interviews, as well as movies and TV shows, guaranteed to give you a quick chuckle.

1. “I’m sick of following my dreams, man. I’m just going to ask where they’re going and hook up with ’em later.” —Mitch Hedberg

2. “Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here. This is the war room.” —President Merkin Muffley (Peter Sellers), Dr. Strangelove

3. “My mother always used to say: The older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana.” —Rose (Betty White), The Golden Girls

4. “Halloween is the beginning of the holiday shopping season. That’s for women. The beginning of the holiday shopping season for men is Christmas Eve.” —David Letterman

5. “Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.” —Jack Handey

6. Bob: “Looks like you’ve been missing a lot of work lately.” Peter: “I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.” —Bob (Paul Wilson) and Peter (Ron Livingston), Office Space

7. “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.” —Mark Twain

8. “Before you marry a person, you should first make them use a computer with slow Internet to see who they really are.” —Will Ferrell

9. “I love being married. It’s so great to find that one special person you want to annoy for the rest of your life.” —Rita Rudner

10. “Ned, I would love to stand here and talk with you—but I’m not going to.” —Phil Connors (Bill Murray), Groundhog Day

11. “When your mother asks, ‘Do you want a piece of advice?’ it is a mere formality. It doesn’t matter if you answer yes or no. You’re going to get it anyway.” —Erma Bombeck

12. “I want my children to have all the things I couldn’t afford. Then I want to move in with them.” —Phyllis Diller

13. “Never follow anyone else’s path. Unless you’re in the woods and you’re lost and you see a path. Then by all means follow that path.” —Ellen DeGeneres

14. “Insomnia sharpens your math skills because you spend all night calculating how much sleep you’ll get if you’re able to ‘fall asleep right now.’” —Anonymous

15. “Breaking up is like knocking over a Coke machine. You can’t do it in one push; you got to rock it back and forth a few times, and then it goes over.” —Jerry (Jerry Seinfeld), Seinfeld

16. “I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.” —Michael Scott (Steve Carrell), The Office

17. “I walk around like everything’s fine, but deep down, inside my shoe, my sock is sliding off.” —Anonymous

18. “I haven’t spoken to my wife in years. I didn’t want to interrupt her.” —Rodney Dangerfield

19. “I used to sell furniture for a living. The trouble was, it was my own.” —Les Dawson

20. “There’s nothing wrong with you that an expensive operation can’t prolong.” —Surgeon (Graham Chapman), Monty Python’s Flying Circus

21. “Someone asked me, if I were stranded on a desert island what book would I bring: ‘How to Build a Boat.’” —Steven Wright

22. Ted Striker: “Surely you can’t be serious.” Dr. Rumack: “I am serious. And don’t call me Shirley” —Ted Striker (Robert Hays) and Dr. Rumack (Leslie Nielsen), Airplane!

23.“There is no sunrise so beautiful that it is worth waking me up to see it.” ―Mindy Kaling, Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?

24. “You know you’ve reached middle age when you’re cautioned to slow down by your doctor, instead of by the police.” —Joan Rivers

25. “Truth hurts. Maybe not as much as jumping on a bicycle with a seat missing, but it hurts.” —Lt. Frank Drebin (Leslie Nielsen), Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear

26. “My Mama says that alligators are ornery because they got all them teeth and no toothbrush.” —Bobby Boucher (Adam Sandler), The Waterboy

27. “I never feel more alone than when I’m trying to put sunscreen on my back.” —Jimmy Kimmel

28. “Marriage is like an unfunny, tense version of Everybody Loves Raymond, but it doesn’t last 22 minutes. It lasts forever.” —Pete (Paul Rudd), Knocked Up

29. “Being a mom means never buying the right amount of produce. Either everyone suddenly loves grapes and a week’s worth are eaten in one afternoon, or fruit flies are congregating around my rotting bananas.” —Lessons from the Minivan

30. “I’m not insane. My mother had me tested.” —Sheldon Cooper (Jim Parsons), The Big Bang Theory

31. “There are only three ages for women in Hollywood: babe, district attorney and Driving Miss Daisy.” —Elise (Goldie Hawn), The First Wives Club

32. Usher: “Bride or groom?” Wedding guest: “It should be perfectly obvious I’m neither!” —Four Weddings and a Funeral

33. Stan Fields: “Describe your perfect date.” Cheryl: “That’s a tough one. I’d have to say April 25. Because it’s not too hot and not too cold. All you need is a light jacket.” —Stan Fields (William Shatner) and Cheryl Frasier (Heather Burns), Miss Congeniality

34. “I saw a study that said speaking in front of a crowd is considered the number one fear of the average person. Number two was death. This means to the average person, if you have to be at a funeral, you would rather be in the casket than doing the eulogy.” —Jerry Seinfeld

35. Lucy: “There’s just two things keeping me from dancing in that show.” Fred: “Your feet?” —Lucy (Lucille Ball) and Fred Mertz (William Frawley), I Love Lucy

36. “Common sense is like deodorant. The people who need it most never use it.” —Anonymous

37. Coach: “How’s a beer sound, Norm?” Norm: “I don’t know, I usually finish before they get a word in.” —Coach (Nicholas Colasanto) and Norm (George Wendt), Cheers

38. “If I woke up tomorrow with my head sewn to the carpet, I wouldn’t be more surprised.” —Clark Griswold (Chevy Chase), National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation

39.“There’s nothing simpler than avoiding people you don’t like. Avoiding one’s friends, that’s the real test.” —Dowager Countess Violet Crawley (Maggie Smith), Downton Abbey

40. “If I’m not back in five minutes, just wait longer.” —Ace Ventura (Jim Carrey), Ace Ventura: Pet Detective

41. “The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.” —Clairee Belcher (Olivia Dukakis), Steel Magnolias

42. “I’m at a place in my life when errands are starting to count as going out.” —Anonymous

43. “A good rule to remember for life is that when it comes to plastic surgery and sushi, never be attracted by a bargain.” —Graham Norton

44. “I’m not good at the advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?” —Chandler (Matthew Perry), Friends

45. “Here’s all you have to know about men and women: Women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.” —George Carlin

46. “When I’m in social situations, I always hold onto my glass. It makes me feel comfortable and secure and I don’t have to shake hands.” —Larry (Larry David), Curb Your Enthusiasm

47. “As you get older, three things happen. The first is your memory goes, and I can’t remember the other two.” —Sir Norman Wisdom

48. “That’s why New York is so great, though. Everyone you care about can despise you and you can still find a bagel so good, nothing else matters. Who needs love when you’ve got lox? They both stink, but only one tastes good.” —Midge Maisel (Rachel Brosnahan), The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

49. “Here’s some advice: At a job interview, tell them you’re willing to give 110 percent. Unless the job is a statistician.” —Adam Gropman

50. “Does it disturb anyone else that ‘The Los Angeles Angels’ baseball team translates directly to ‘The The Angels Angels’?” —Neil DeGrasse Tyson

51. “I never forget a face—but in your case, I’ll be glad to make an exception.” —Groucho Marx

52. “Here’s something to think about: How come you never see a headline like ‘Psychic Wins Lottery’?” —Jay Leno

53. “A day without sunshine is like, you know, night.” —Steve Martin

54. “My therapist told me the way to achieve true inner peace is to finish what I start. So far I’ve finished two bags of M&Ms and a chocolate cake. I feel better already.” —Dave Barry

55. “Never do anything out of hunger. Not even eating.” —Frank Semyon (Vince Vaughn), True Detective

56. “What do you mean, he don’t eat no meat? That’s okay, that’s okay. I make lamb.” —Aunt Voula (Andrea Martin), My Big Fat Greek Wedding

57. “You know you’re getting old when you stoop to tie your shoelaces and wonder what else you could do while you’re down there.” —George Burns

58. “To call you stupid would be an insult to stupid people!” —Wanda (Jamie Lee Curtis), A Fish Called Wanda

59. “Instead of the mahi mahi, may I just get the one mahi because I’m not that hungry?” —Shelley Darlingson (Anna Faris), The House Bunny

60. “Accept who you are. Unless you’re a serial killer.” —Ellen DeGeneres

61. Francois: “Do you know what kind of a bomb it was?” Clouseau: “The exploding kind.” —Francois (André Maranne) and Inspector Clouseau (Peter Sellers), The Pink Panther Strikes Again

62. “My ability to turn good news into anxiety is rivaled only by my ability to turn anxiety into chin acne.” —Tina Fey, Bossypants

63. “There is one word that describes people that don’t like me: Irrelevant.” —Anonymous

64. “Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?” —Robin Williams

65. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Of course, I don’t really remember yesterday all that well.” —Dory (Ellen DeGeneres), Finding Dory

66. “I don’t have to take this abuse from you; I’ve got hundreds of people dying to abuse me.” —Dr. Peter Venkman (Bill Murray), Ghostbusters

67. Police officer: “Pull over.” Harry: “No, it’s a cardigan. But thanks for noticing.” —Harry Dunne (Jeff Daniels), Dumb and Dumber

68. “I grew up with six brothers. That’s how I learned to dance: waiting for the bathroom.” —Bob Hope

69. “If we’re going to pay this much for crab, it better sing and dance and introduce us to the Little Mermaid.” —Claire Foster (Tina Fey), Date Night

70. “I prefer not to think before speaking. I like being as surprised as everyone else by what comes out of my mouth.” —Anonymous

71. “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well.” —Mark Twain

72. “Woke up today. It was terrible.” —Grumpy Cat

73. “Eggs are fantastic for a fitness diet. If you don’t like the taste, just add cocoa, flour, sugar, butter, baking powder and cook at 350 for 30 minutes.” —Anonymous

74. “I can’t end my messages with Love, Shaq because the B-52s ruined that for me.” —Meme attributed to Shaquille O’Neal

75. “My husband and I fell in love at first sight. Maybe I should have taken a second look.” —Halley Reed (Mia Farrow), Crimes and Misdemeanors

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76. “Thanksgiving dinners take 18 hours to prepare. They are consumed in 12 minutes. Half-times take 12 minutes. This is not a coincidence.” —Erma Bombeck

77. “Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.” —Mortimer Brewster (Cary Grant), Arsenic and Old Lace

78. Brian: “Look, you’ve got it all wrong. You don’t need to follow me. You don’t need to follow anybody. You’ve got to think for yourselves. You’re all individuals.” Crowd: “Yes, we’re all individuals!” Individual: “I’m not!” —Brian (Graham Chapman) and cast, Monty Python’s Life of Brian

79. “Why can’t you just be happy for me and then go home and talk behind my back later like a normal person?” —Lillian (Maya Rudolph), Bridesmaids

80. “Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.” —Oscar Wilde

81. “What they could do to make it easier is combine the two, real estate and obituaries: Mr. Klein died today leaving a wife, two children, and a spacious three-bedroom apartment with a wood-burning fireplace.” —Harry (Billy Crystal), When Harry Met Sally

82. “The key to faking out the parents is the clammy hands. It’s a good non-specific symptom; I’m a big believer in it. A lot of people will tell you that a good phony fever is a dead lock, but you get a nervous mother, you could wind up in a doctor’s office. That’s worse than school. You fake a stomach cramp, and when you’re bent over, moaning and wailing, you lick your palms. It’s a little childish and stupid, but then, so is high school.” —Ferris Bueller (Matthew Broderick), Ferris Bueller’s Day Off

83. “I like my money where I can see it: hanging in my closet.” —Carrie (Sarah Jessica Parker), Sex and the City

84: Cal: “You are really pushing my buttons today.” Becky: “Which one is ‘mute’?” —Waitress, the Musical

85. “The worst part of online shopping is having to get up and get your credit card from your purse.” —Anonymous

86. “People say, ‘But Betty, Facebook is a great way to connect with old friends.’ Well, at my age, if I want to connect with old friends I need a Ouija board.” —Betty White

87. “My therapist says I’m afraid of success. I guess I could understand that, because after all, fulfilling my potential would really cut into my sitting-around time.” —Maria Bamford

88. “From the ages of eight to 18, me and my family moved around a lot. Mostly we would just stretch, but occasionally one of us would actually get up to go to the fridge.” —Jarod Kintz

89. “Money cannot buy health, but I’d settle for a diamond-studded wheelchair.” —Dorothy Parker

90. “The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat. So people who don’t know what they’re doing, or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self.” —Joe Fox (Tom Hanks), You’ve Got Mail

91. “Good parenting means investing in your child’s future, which is why I am saving to buy mine a hoverboard someday.” —Lin-Manuel Miranda

92. “I love airports because the rules of society don’t apply. Eat a pizza and have a glass of wine at 7 am while in track pants. Nobody cares.” —Anonymous

93. “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.” —Groucho Marx

94. “I’m one stomach flu away from my goal weight.” —Emily Charlton (Emily Blunt), The Devil Wears Prada

95. “My perfect beautiful miracle baby? Never slept. Ever. Never. Twelve years later the memories of those nights, of that sleep deprivation, still make me rock back and forth a little bit. You want to torture someone? Hand them an adorable baby they love who doesn’t sleep.” —Shonda Rimes

96. “I’d like to have a kid, but I’m not sure I’m ready to spend 10 years of my life constantly asking someone where his shoes are.” —Damien Fahey

97. “Why yes, I can carry on a conversation made up entirely of movie quotes.” —Anonymous

98. “I’m sure wherever my Dad is, he’s looking down on us. He’s not dead, just very condescending.” —Jack Whitehall

99. “I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.” —Noel Coward

100. “Trying is the first step toward failure.” —Homer Simpson, The Simpsons

101. “I have a lot of growing up to do. I realized that the other day inside my fort.” —Zach Galifianakis

Want more great quotes? Check out… 50 Thinking of You Quotes 150 Good Morning Quotes 100 Wedding and Marriage Quotes 50 Friday Quotes 50 Monday Motivation Quotes

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shawnjacksonsbs · 7 years

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Lighter vices. 4-23-17

I wrote most of what you are about to read last night, but wanted to say that after sleeping on it, I understand more of what physically feels like a literal heavier heart.

As I push myself towards becoming a better person, I also wish for the whole of humanity to rise up and be better too. The way the less compassionate people of the world bother me, that others tell me to not think about, well that’s never going to happen, its who I am. I will start with me, then work on those closer to my heart, while actively participating in all that I believe life is and should be.

I will never stop standing up to bullies, whether they are individuals or police or government officials. The only difference is the arenas in which the fights are held. Lol I can only do so much indiviually, but if yesterday proves anything to me, its when you add a hundred thousand 1s together you get 100,000. A positive productive role for a greater good. I just needed to get that out there.

Now --

--It’s still 4-22-17 at about 8:30 pm. I don’t know whether or not tomorrow is a good day yet because I’m still in yesterday to you readers.

My relative nature, is that of a recovering drug addict and for all I am now, and grateful for I, at times, feel like the hole still needs to be filled. I don’t share on this very often, mainly because its varies in degree of depth relation to my other entries I suppose.

My mind tends to rationalize to no end, and for days I have thought about having a drink, and a smoke (cigar), although what kind of smoke, I think might be irrelevant. After sharing my entry in its entirety on Facebook, I decided I have been eating better and I wanted some pizza. I also found coupons, so I went and bought to medium pizzas. On my way home, I decided to stop and buy a 22 oz. Smirnoff and a black n mild jazz cigar as well.

Wanting all this bad, and looking forward to taking it all in, including the over-eating of some fire ass pizza, all the while planning tomorrow’s entry in my head, for which I wasn’t going to lie about all this, but I don’t think that I exactly knew how and why I was doing it, so any rational thought as to the excuses I was going to give, would have been meaningless and void of any real thought and compassion.

We, as in you and I, deserve more than that to begin with, but I was struggling for reasons I still haven’t completely processed yet, aside from being homesick, which seems to get progressively worse as I get closer to time for my visit, just like it has every other time I have ever traveled back home. Weird, right?

Upon arriving back home, I anxiously came upstairs, having already eaten three slices of the pizza on the drive back, it was time to drink and smoke out on the deck. I tell myself I can drink, because I believe I can successfully drink without incident. I am an ex-drug addict not an alcoholic. I occasionally drink, it’s usually like Baileys around the holidays, etc. Alcohol has never been an issue, although it’s not really a friend either. The cigar, well, I knew I shouldn’t, but figured I could re-fight off the cravings again should they return after tonight. I opened the bottle and pulled a big swig straight off the top, literally all I could take with one breathe. Then I opened up the door, stepped outside, and lit my cigar, which was just awful.

It made me light headed and nauseous feeling. I no longer wanted to smoke, and I no longer felt like drinking. I kept the god damn pizza though, but I threw out the cigar and dumped 90% of the bottle down my kitchen sink, best and worst 15 bucks I ever spent.

Tonight, for all my accomplishments of recent years, it was my failings tonight that make me grateful. As in, I am grateful that I have been clear of these things long enough now that my body is helping me reject them, even if its without my consent. Lol

I think I need to go brush my teeth now. I may not write anything else tomorrow. I am going to try and maintain some common sense when eating the remainder of the pizza, although I am going to throw some of it away as well, save enough for a couple of lunches. I may stay home tomorrow, not go to the mission, and just binge watch some Netflix, I mean I did get out today, and if occasionally over eating pizza and if occasionally being lazy are my only escapes then I will enjoy them, occasionally. lol

I am grateful that my go to place isn’t a dope house anymore, it’s a page in here.

Sharing the love and the laughter can sometimes be harder than may appear to others.

Until tomorrow;

“My vices just aren’t what they used to be.” – Shawn Jackson

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batchaoticcollectionnight-blog · 6 years

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I want an insurance quote?

I want to the difference in insurance between a 93 v6 Camaro and a 93 Camaro Z28

Is accutane usually covered by insurance?

i have blue cross blue shield insurance if that helps.

Mega life and health insurance?

What is the location of Mega Life and Health Insurance?

How do you get flood insurance from the NFIP?

I already live in a community that enforces the floodplain management ordinances, but how do I get the insurance?""

Tee Motorcycle insurance?

I'm 17, I live in Arlington TX, I have A's and B's with a few C's (my parents told me they look at grades. True?) I'm Looking at buying either an older honda shadow, probably around 750 cc or an older Kawasaki Vuclan (same). THe bikes will be pre-2000, and I will be getting bare minmum insurance. Can anyone guess at the rate?""

Do you get health insurance as a Burger King crew member?

do you get health insurance as a BK team member if so, what type? Also what is covered and what is the monthly cost? Thanks""

How much does it cost for car insurance for an 18 year old male at insautoinsurance?

chilli car insurance

""Motorcycle with no License, Insurance, or Registration. ?""

I have a coworker that rides his bike without insurance, a license, and a suspended registration. He's under the impression that, at worst, he'll only be fined. What are the possible consequences if he is stopped by a police officer in the State of California or Oregon?""

Can insurance change your vehicle designation?

repairs on my motorcycle which included frame change were authorized by my insurance. However the new frame came w/o a vin # which I had to get stamped for a new title. Now I have a specialty constructed vehicle , which is not for resale in California. is this legal?""

Pre paid car insurance?

i am looking for a cheap prepaid car insurance. i dont know how long i will be in the country. any suggestions please

Mandating health insurance?

I heard that HIllary and Obama want to mandate health insurance. How is that going to solve anything? People can't afford it, like me. Health insurance should be like car insurance, people pay their own way and if they don't have it they pay for their repairs or don't get fixed.""

""My adult brother is living with my family, do I need to put him on my car insurance policy?""

My 29 year old brother has been living at my place for a few months. He's still covered by my parents car insurance in another state, but I wonder if I have to put him on my policy since he practically lives with me. He only drives one of my cars occasionally. His living with us should be temporary (hopefully no more than few more months)""

Insurance will only cover 1000$ of dental issues?

My friend's parents haven't taken her to the dentist in 10 years. Now she has 21 cavities. She says that it will cost 6000$ and insurance will only cover 1000$. Is there anyway she can separate the fillings so that insurance will pay (almost) all of it?

""What are some good, reliable cars that don't have super high insurance?""

I'm 18, responsible driver, clean record which will stay clean. Looking for another car still. Will almost positively be under 2005 and not a sporty one. I was looking into Acura Integra. But, kinda like maybe something like a Jeep Liberty (if insurance isn't high!) I will be on my parents insurance and both of them have clean records so that should lower it anyways. Would Audi A4 or a Suzuki or Kia sedan be fairly cheap?""

If i buy a car off of craigslist will my insurance company accept it?

will my insurance still put the car on the insurance plan even though i didnt buy it from a car dealership? because i dnt have enough money right now to go to a dealer...so im jus finna buy a local car off of craigs list for cheap..because i really need a car like right now

How much would a typical car insurance cost for a punto? im also a new driver and 20 yrs of age.?

Motorcycle insurance/registration in IL?

Do I need insurance to register my motorcycle in the state of IL? I know I don't need insurance to register it at the currency exchange, but it's cheaper at the DMV so I rather go there, I just don't know if I need proof of insurance.""

Whats the Cheapest Car Insurance i can get in British Columbia?? 2qestion read on?

i want to buy my first car next year when i turn 17 but i need to know how much insurance i have to pay!?!?! the car i kind of want is a good running beginner car any advice of which would suit my needs car??

Im 18 and i need car insurance cheap?

Ok im an 18 yr old student who needs cheap insurance - what is the cheapest and most legal way to do that because i don't want to spend 3000+ on a car with a base value of 600

How much is car insurance for a 17 year old male in maryland????????!!!?!?!?! PLEASE ANSWER!!!?

I got my license today lol....I need car insurance because I have an internship starting on the 29th...does anyone know a cheap but good/decent insurance policy??????PLEASE HELP!!!

Does anyone knows an affordable weight loss camp for a 20 years old?

I am desperate to lose weight and i need a healthy, but affordable way to do so in the Florida area OR new England""

Will buying a salvage title car make my insurance go up? ?

The car is in mint condition now I got a mechanic o look at it it's fully restored but if I buy it will it effect my car insurance

I want to buy a car i am 15 and i want to know which car should i get and how much is the insurance gna b??

I LiVE IN FLORIDA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

Should I consider getting health insurance??

I am 22 and have no health insurance. I am a pretty healthy person and don't have to see the doctor often. I just think it's a waist of money to get health insurance unless it's for accidents or something like that because in order to get an affordable monthly premium then your deductible is going to be high. I may never reach the deductible, but still have to pay the premium. So should I just pay out of pocket when I do need to go to the doctor and just consider getting a high deductible plan or should I just go ahead and pay a higher monthly premium for a lower deductible. (Remember I don't have to see the doctor very often, I'm relatively healthy)""

Cheap 17 Year old car insurance?

I have just passed my driving test and can't find affordable car insurance. I would not be the main driver of the car as I would use it less than my parents, yet I cannot find a quote cheaper than 3000 on my 2004 Fiat Punto 1.2L Petrol.""

""As a 16 year old male, how much will I pay for auto insurance?""

I am a 16 year old male (and I already know what statistics show, unfortunately), soon to be 17 years old in October. I will be paying auto insurance pretty soon and I am trying to get an estimate of how much I will be paying monthly/yearly. I obtain a 3.5 GPA and reside in Dayton, Ohio. My mother will be adding me to her insurance plan and I drive a 1999 Chevy Camaro (this is the car that will be insured, and thankfully it does not have a Z28 engine). I'm not sure whether or not the insurance agency will consider this a sports car either, so I'm pretty nervous! Please help me! Thank you!""

Will having a hidden kill switch in my car make insurance cheaper?

So basically, noone will be able to start the car unless they know where the switch is hidden. Surely this increases the security of the car, therefore should make insurance cheaper.""

Can daughter get Health Insurance if she has pre-existing such as asthma?

My 18 year old daughter who graduated in May, has moved to a nearby town and is working at Applebees. She wants to get certified as personal fitness trainer, and so she will be dropped off of my insurance, since this is not a full time student program. She was 18 in June, and lives in Texas. She is going to soon have to be dropped of of my health insurance. I do not think that Applebees provides any insurance for hourly employees. She also has asthma, although not real bad, but this is a pre-existing conditions. Will she be able to get any kind of affordable health insurance, or is she just going to have to be one of the millions who can't have health insurance?""

What is the cheapest auto insurance in NYC?

Currently paying way too much for my auto insurance with Geico.

Should the Government make sure that every American has affordable health insurance?

Why or why not? What is a possible solution?

Car insurance question?

I have my own car but the title insurance and registration isnt in my name its in my girlfriends step dad name so I could have really cheap insurance. And some girl hit the back of my car the other day but didnt make no police report because I knew her. So she just gave me her policy number agents name and phone number. But my main concern is that will my car be able to get fixed because im not on the insurance? My girlfriends step dad has plpd insurance and so does the girl that hit me and I live in michigan.

Health insurance in Michigan for low income person?

Health insurance in Michigan for low income person I live in Chicago, but my mom lives in Northern Michigan. I am reaching out to the Yahoo Answers community for help. My mom is 55 and my dad is 65. My dad gets some health benefits because he is on Social Security, but my mom has nothing. My mom runs a foster care home for abused and mentally handicap kids. I dont know for sure what their income is, but I have to believe it would be in the high 20s to low 30s (nothing). I say foster home, but she really adopted these kids. Because she adopted them, I guess she is technically not employed by the State of Michigan and therefore gets no insurance. My mom is really sick and has no health insurance. She refuses to visit the hospital or a doctor because of the bills. My brother and I have offered time and again to pay for this, but she feels like she is being a burden. This time she finally agreed because she is really really hurting. Does anything here know of low cost assistance she would qualify for? I doubt any traditional health insurance would pick her up because of her age, and general bill of health. Even if they did, I bet the premiums would be too much, and the co-pays would be outrageous. Any direction you can point me in will be helpful for a starting point.""

chilli car insurance

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/question-health-insurance-jonathan-dean/"

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shawnjacksonsbs · 5 years

Text

You do realize that we don't live forever, right? 9-29-19

"As human beings, our job in life is to help people realize how rare and valuable each one of us really is, that each of us has something that no one else has- or ever will have- something inside that is unique to all time. It's our job to encourage each other to discover that uniqueness and to provide ways of developing its expression.' 'All of us, at some time or other, need help. Whether we're giving or receiving help, each one of us has something valuable to bring to this world. That's one of the things that connects us as neighbors--in our own way, each one of us is a giver and a receiver." - Mr. Fred Rogers We'd all be better off to remember and live by these wise words than not. On my mind this week; I've had conversations with a variety of people over the last several years that have gotten clean and out of the life, in which a lot of them have said the whole "I don't miss being high". Now, although I don't miss everything that comes with getting high, like broken relationships, street living, drama, stress, etc. I'd be remiss and delusional if I said I don't miss the actual being high part. I mean c'mon, I tried to stay high everyday for damn near 20 years. I really, really liked being high and how it felt. No question about it. It's a good thing I'm a place in my life where those thoughts are easily dismissible right? I can continue to say that if I ever relapse it'll be a conscious decision and not because I'm going through withdrawal and/or the being drawn back in without any self-control. I have gained way too much to lose, to include relationships, and the feelings I have about my life now. They completely supersede any old feelings of the "high". Believe that. It's almost like how every now and then, and only sometimes, the smell of someone else smoking a cigarette makes me fantasize about taking that drag myself, thinking it would taste like heaven, probably building it up to taste way better than it would actually turn out, but nowadays, I can just . . not . . do . . it! Just like that, I can turn my thoughts off and in another direction. It's actually so easy to do now that it's hard to believe that it was such a struggle before. It's a pretty great feeling. Something else I think is not very accurate, at least not for all of us recovered or recovering, is that we continued to use because we were chasing that 1st high we had. Not true. Hell, I had way better highs 15 years into my active addiction than I ever did early on. Some highs were better than others and granted, none of the shit that comes with it was ever ok, but the being high part was always good enough to keep me coming back for more. It might sound sick, which is more on point than I give credit, but that's the god damned truth, for me anyway. Some feelings were bad but not all. Most were just normal/average feelings, albeit for me, not-so manageable, but I imagine most people dealt with them just fine. But being high just felt better than those feelings. So to get right, I had to find things that felt better than wanting to be high anymore, or ever again. I didn't know this until after I escaped the life though. It was so hard all of those times before, because of how much I loved being high. I still remember how good it felt. When people say they don't miss it (I envy them if it's true). Well I don't miss the life at all and I've gained so much that I don't want to lose but the being high . . . was a whole other thing I had to overcome. Just saying. Anyway. . . Hoping harder than hard as I watch my two adult boys that recently started getting things straight in their lives, finally, that what they need seriously sticks with them this time. So far so good, and no pressure Mr. Universe, but they need this win. Keep up with us this time. Ok? I'm just so grateful that I had the opportunity to mend most of my relationships. So we are actually in each other's lives again. I can be there for them, like right now, as they do better I can help them save themselves while there is still something left in them to save. And that's right, I said they are to save themselves. That's key. They are responsible for getting and staying out of the life just like they are accountable for when they were in it. One of them took a little nudge from some legal actions hanging over him and some trouble meant to push him in the right direction, but that doesn't mean it won't hit home. Their other brother turned his life around after a legal bout and a prison scare, so . . . We have a plan set up for him to get himself through, and I'll walk beside him, especially with an uncomfortable walk he has to do after the holidays. I might share more on this later, but it is kind of his, so. . . And my other son is straight and finally working too, (they both have jobs!!). Some struggles he has, which are not nearly as severe, are tough nonetheless. And I will do what I can for him as well, as long as they walk the walk, I will walk with them and help them hold their heads up, and hold 'em high through it. Changing gears real quick. I have given a tremendous amount of thought to writing a book, more specifically an autobiography, and have decided that is not going to be possible and why. It's pretty hard to just change the names of some people and places. Way too many key characters and their story arcs which are important to the "how" and "why" I ended up where I am in my own story, would have to be changed to keep identities safe and uncompromised. Little changes might work for the unknowing public, but not those hiding from their role in their real lives now. The changes would need to be pretty extreme. Whether or not they are still currently active in my story, or their addiction, is irrelevant. Too many people would catch on to who I'm talking about with minor changes. So to change them enough to not be recognized would mean too many changes to the story itself and it would no longer be the autobiography of Shawn Jackson, but instead a complete work of fiction. Setting people out will never be my place or my intent. So writing an "autobiography" probably isn't going to work for me. I'm okay with that too, but I imagine that if I could have, the title would be just that. . ."You do realize that we don't live forever, right?" And the last thing for this week is this, I stay so very lost as to why my writings even have haters really. They (my writings) are usually more about self-care, and the benefits I have gained from living in it, so I try to pay that message forward. Oh and . . . that whole being a dick to, or even about, other people says a whole hell of a lot more about your character than it ever will theirs. Remember to always try to be kind to one another when and where you can, and when and where you can't then at least be civil, and forever share the love and the laughter with the world around you. As often as humanly possible just do it! Until next week; "By simply living in gratitude today, we can help others to live in hope for tomorrow. Be the fucking change and try to understand why." - Shawn Jackson

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